“This is the initial engagement contract,” he said. “Your father’s council and mine have reviewed the terms. Preparationsare already underway. Your seal will be required before the public announcement tomorrow.”
My eyelids fluttered, a brief shield against the absurdity. “I haven’t even read it,” I stated, a defensive edge to the tone.
“You will,” Kaelen said smoothly. “Before the signing, of course. But the terms are standard dowry, title inheritance, and ceremonial dates. What matters now is that Caerthaine sees this union as inevitable. Unshakable.”
Across the room, Alaric shifted. “She should’ve known before now.”
Kaelen didn’t turn. “She knows now.”
My mouth was dry. “And if I say I’m not ready?”
“You’ll be saying it to an audience already gathered. You’ll be saying it to a kingdom watching you walk into power,” Kaelen said, his voice calm, yet resonating with undeniable authority. “The time for hesitation has passed.”
A quiet surrender settled within me, a subtle crumbling of resolve.
He tapped the scroll again, the seal glinting in the torchlight. “Elyrien’s lands are fertile, yes, but fragile. Your people are farmers, not soldiers. You have fields, not fleets. If war came, your orchards and granaries would burn within a week.”
His gaze lifted to mine, steady and unblinking. “Caerthaine has ports and ships enough to choke the seas, but our cliffs and salt fields cannot feed us. Without Elyrien’s grain, we starve. And then there is Vireth.”
The name weighed heavily in the chamber.
“The desert breeds hunger and steel. Their armies are unmatched, their politics a knife’s edge sharper than any blade. Vireth presses from the south. Caerthaine holds the sea. Elyrien is caught between—surrounded.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry.
“This alliance is not about a wedding, Princess,” Kaelen continued. “It is about balance. Vireth’s desert thirsts, Caerthaine’s soil fails, Elyrien’s strength lies only in its harvests. Alone, we all falter. Together, we endure.”
“For whom?” I asked, forcing the words through the ache in my chest.
“Everyone,” he said smoothly. Then his mouth curved, just slightly. “Including you.”
Dorian rose to pour himself a cup of red wine, likely older than everyone in the room, and said casually, “And of course, the falsely gifted don’t exactly help things.”
Kaelen’s expression tightened. “Two more surfaced last week. A seamstress in the port and a boy, fifteen maybe. Burned down half a barn with black flame. No sigil. No god. No control.”
A surge of lightheadedness made my surroundings reel.
“We executed them,” Kaelen said simply. “We had no choice.”
Alaric’s voice was sharp. “You burned a child.”
“A vessel for chaos,” Kaelen snapped. “False gifts are not divine. They are trauma turned inward until it ruptures. Magic that mimics but never obeys. Corrupted. Cursed. Left unchecked, they tear kingdoms apart.”
My hand drifted to my sleeve. Beneath it, my skin remembered the echo of the mark.
“They’re not all evil,” I murmured.
Kaelen’s stare cut like glass. “They are not all safe.”
Silence fell.
When Kaelen exited, leaving the scroll behind like a dropped dagger.
Alaric approached slowly, crouching beside my chair. “You okay?”
“No,” I said, voice small.
Dorian gave me a softer look than before. “Princess,” he said gently. “Not all cages have bars. But you can still learn where the lock sits.”
